


Call and I'll Be There

by kyrene



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-26
Updated: 2011-12-26
Packaged: 2017-10-28 05:00:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/304003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyrene/pseuds/kyrene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur was in the Czech Republic when he first heard the rumors. Normally he knew better than to listen to word of mouth, but sometimes that was all there was when it came to keeping in touch with someone in the dream-share. And right now this was evidently all he had when it came to a certain forger.</p><p>Of course, it didn't help that Eames seemed to be doing his best to actively avoid Arthur.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Call and I'll Be There

Arthur was in the Czech Republic when he first heard the rumors. Normally he knew better than to listen to word of mouth, but sometimes that was all there was when it came to keeping in touch with someone in the dream-share. And right now this was evidently all he had when it came to a certain forger.

Of course, it didn't help that Eames seemed to be doing his best to actively avoid Arthur.

Arthur had thought for a while that he was overreacting, that he was imagining things. But then it reached the point that he could no longer chalk it up to coincidence or happenstance. When Arthur had agreed to take a job that Eames was already a part of and Eames had promptly dropped out of said job even though it had been challenging and lucrative at once, with a high probability of success and small risk if it failed, Arthur could no longer pretend that it wasn't personal.

Arthur supposed it was his fault. He liked to be able to attribute blame where he could, even if he might not do anything about it. And even though it was Eames who was going to the effort of avoiding Arthur, a quick look back on their last several times together had painted a clear enough picture.

Arthur still wasn't quite sure _why_ Eames had suddenly decided he was poison, but he knew the man well enough to know it wouldn't have been an arbitrary decision. They might not make sense to anyone else, but Eames always had reasons for anything that he did.

Arthur felt that it was probably up to him to figure out what he had done... or _hadn't_ done. But if Eames wasn't going to be forthright about it, then it wasn't really Arthur's place to pry.

Anyway, just because they occasionally fucked, that didn't mean that they owed each other anything. They worked together well enough -- or had, before Eames had made a concerted effort to break away -- and they had fun in bed. And if they weren't _friends_ , they at least kept the sniping to a minimum and only meant about half of what they said.

The rumors weren't about the two of them, of course. They had always been circumspect, at least as far as Arthur knew. Never leaving a meeting together, never indulging at work, never sharing a bed past their mutual climax.

Not that Eames hadn't offered, asked, occasionally demanded. He'd been trying to talk Arthur into spending the night pretty much since the first time they had fucked. And each time, Arthur had calmly explained why this was such a bad idea. He'd have thought that Eames would have gotten the point by now. He'd thought more of Eames' intelligence than that.

No, the rumors weren't about "them"; they were about Eames alone. And they were... disturbing, to say the least. Especially given what Arthur knew about Eames' personality.

"Have you heard about Eames?" Sasha asked him, during a job they were working together in Prague.

"What?" Arthur was distracted, working feverishly to memorize the maze they were using for the first part of the dream. Their architect had created it and then had to leave in a hurry -- some sort of family emergency -- so Arthur would be filling in. He was just glad he wasn't being asked to perform the extraction as well. He could _do_ it, and he thought he did pretty well when he acted as the extractor, but wearing too many hats could get needlessly stressful. And, besides, he was good, but Sasha was better.

"Eames. The forger. You know him, right? You've worked with him a few times?"

Arthur blinked at the stocky blonde woman. He liked working with Sasha, for her competence and her no-nonsense approach, but she did tend to gossip.

Arthur was glad that she was so obviously unaware of how close he actually was to Eames -- close enough to have had his dick in Eames' ass and vice versa -- and since he had no idea what she was talking about, and since she was talking about _Eames_ , he was willing to indulge her.

"What about him?"

"Its nothing specific," she admitted. Arthur thought absently that she must have been quite pretty fifteen or twenty years ago, and also that the turtlenecks she chose to wear did her no favors, but mostly he was intent on what she was saying.

"So?" Why was she bothering to bring up the subject in that case, Arthur wanted to add, but he was too polite to do so.

"Well, you keep a finger on the pulse," she said with a shrug. "Thought you might know more."

"What's the rumor, then?" Arthur asked, and by now he was genuinely curious. He hadn't heard from Eames in several months, since the man had begun avoiding him. He supposed he should try contacting Eames, but that required actual effort. Eames was almost impossible to get a hold of if one didn't track him down physically. He had no email, rarely carried a cell, and never gave out his number when he _did_ have one. This was why Cobb had been forced to dare Cobol in Mombasa when he'd gone to talk Eames into joining the Fischer job.

"That he was involved in a job that went sour," Sasha replied. "That everyone died; everyone other than Eames."

Arthur felt his stomach give a twist, even though she'd specifically stated that Eames was still alive. "But you don't know who the rest of the team was?"

She shook her head. "Must not have been any real names in the business," she said dismissively, and that was the end of that subject, as Sasha let him get back to the maze before him, and Arthur got back to it.

Arthur had felt a little worried, but he put it out of his mind. If Eames wasn't asking Arthur for help, he wouldn't appreciate Arthur butting in.

Arthur already knew _that_ from experience.

+++

Of course, when Arthur was wrong, he was spectacularly wrong, and he had an admitted habit of underestimating Eames. This sometimes included Eames' ability to get into trouble, in addition to his talents, his drive, and his motivations.

The rumors didn't stop, and in fact they got worse. The next time Arthur caught wind of it there were names and while it wasn't anyone Arthur knew personally, he knew one of the dead had been the man who had mentored Eames. It had to hurt Eames to have lost him, Arthur thought ruefully.

But the next round of rumors were much worse. People were starting to whisper that it had been Eames' doing, that Eames was to blame for the flubbed job and the subsequent deaths. They were spreading the word, that no one ought to work with him, and this had Arthur deeply concerned.

For one thing, he highly doubted Eames was to blame for what had happened. Even without knowing the details, he knew Eames well enough to be confident in this. And for another.... well, what would Eames do if he couldn't work in the dream-share? He had skills outside of extraction, it was true. But he had mastered forging in dreams, and, besides, anyone who had walked in the world of lucid dreaming would do just about anything in order to continue doing so.

As Arthur learned when he began seriously looking for Eames, when he continued listening to the rumors. Eames was still working as a thief and a forger, but he'd been reduced to joining teams made up of the most questionable, seedy individuals that Arthur had ever had the displeasure to hear of. Meanwhile, nothing came out to contradict the stories that it had been because of Eames that his team had died, and everyone who mattered seemed to continue to believe it.

It was when the chemist on Eames' current job -- a man who could be considered third-rate only if one were being generous -- had nearly poisoned his whole extraction team that Arthur decided he couldn't put it off any longer.

He had always thought that if Eames really needed help, he would come to Arthur. Arthur had called on Eames a couple of times in the past, and Eames had come through with flying colors. And there had been one and a half times that Eames had asked Arthur for aid. The "half" being something that resolved itself before Arthur had arrived, but the point being that Eames had asked before, and Arthur had come.

It was true that things had obviously changed. Arthur hadn't forgotten that Eames had been avoiding him, even before all of this had gone down. But he'd have thought that reason would have trumped emotion, that prudence and need would have triumphed over whatever grudge Eames was evidently holding against him.

Obviously, though, he had been wrong.

And so it was up to him to find Eames. Fortunately for Arthur -- though, of course he wasn't happy about the fact -- the botched job had rendered Eames too weak to move quickly, and he was holed up in a cheap hotel when Arthur arrived in town.

This was potentially a huge mistake, Arthur acknowledged to himself as he stood outside the door to Eames' room. But he felt that he had made an even larger mistake in not coming to see Eames sooner. In not tracking him down as soon as the rumors had started. In not confronting him as soon as he had realized that Eames was avoiding him.

Well, whatever he had done wrong, wherever he had screwed up, Arthur was going to fix it now. He was going to make sure that he fixed _everything_. The misplaced blame, the rumors, and... well, whatever had gone wrong between himself and Eames even though he still had no idea what that could have been.

It might be a bit of a tall order, but Arthur had confidence in his own abilities.

And, besides, by this point he couldn't _afford_ to fail.

+++

The hotel room didn't look or smell any different than Arthur would have expected, knowing that its occupant had been essentially bedridden for days, but it still hurt him to see Eames like this.

He knew Eames, knew that he liked to keep himself clean and well-groomed -- the perpetual stubble notwithstanding -- and to see him reduced to a pallid shade, sprawled on sweat-stained sheets, his hair a tangled rats-nest and his lips chapped....

It was a little as though Eames had been suffering an extended bout of food poisoning, Arthur supposed, only this had been a badly mixed batch of black market Somnacin substitute. And he'd been like this for days. In fact, he was probably on the mend as Arthur arrived.

That last was a terrifying thought.

Arthur could see half-empty water glasses and the remnants of take-out wrappers littered around the room, so Eames had at least been eating and hydrating, hopefully. And he managed to pull a gun within one minute of Arthur entering the room, even though the hand holding it was so unsteady that Arthur doubted he'd be able to properly aim.

"It's me, Eames," he said loudly, because even if Eames wasn't capable of a head shot, Arthur wasn't eager to get a bullet to the knee or any other extremity in the waking world. It had hurt badly enough in the dream-share. "Arthur."

Eames slurred out something that only had pretentions of being words, but the gun vanished back under his pillow, so Arthur counted it as a win.

Since Eames hadn't been articulate enough to deny him entrance, and since he was already halfway across the room, Arthur paced the rest of the way to the bed, crouching beside it and reaching out to place a hand on Eames' shoulder. He could feel bones under his hand, along with muscle, and that was so far from right that he could hardly stand it.

"Hey, how are you doing?"

It was a stupid question, of course, but Arthur had never really been good with inane chatter. Especially not with Eames. Usually when Arthur and Eames spoke it was brief and to the point, whether it involved work or sex. Arthur knew that Eames could schmooze with the best of them, and he was great at brainstorming in ways that Arthur sort of envied in a low-key way, but these things had never been a part of their interactions. Arthur considered them to be crutches, and he preferred the more direct approach.

Right now, though, Eames didn't look as though he'd appreciate the direct approach. And Arthur would have felt like an asshole if he told Eames that he thought he looked like shit, even though it was the truth.

Eames didn't really reply, but Arthur hadn't expected that he would. He looked exhausted, dark shadows bruising the flesh around his eyes, and he should have shaved days ago. He was lying on his stomach, and Arthur paused a moment to wonder just _how_ it was that he knew Eames only slept on his stomach when he was hung over or ill, especially considering that they had never shared a bed outside of using it for sex.

"Hey, Eames, I'm here to take care of you," Arthur said, speaking as clearly as possible, hoping that Eames was processing his words. "And I'm not giving you a choice in the matter."

He still needed to tackle the subject of that job gone wrong and the team members who had died, as well as the fact that Eames was being blamed for this... but not now. Not when Eames looked as though a stiff gust of wind could cave his skull in.

First Arthur needed to make sure Eames was functional.

+++

Taking care of Eames involved doing a lot more than Arthur had ever thought he'd be willing to do for someone else. Getting Eames into the bathtub was a lot easier now that he'd dropped so much weight, but actually bathing an adult male was messy at best and hugely embarrassing for them both at worst.

Shaving Eames was actually far easier and far more satisfying, and Arthur took some pleasure in making it a clean shave. Not that he had anything against the stubble... but he remembered his days of dealing with beard burn on his cheeks, neck, and inner thighs, so he considered this something along the lines of belated vengeance.

There were meals to be ordered, mild enough to stomach but healthy enough to nourish, and water to get into Eames. The food didn't always want to stay down, but Arthur was insistent, and eventually Eames began to regain his strength.

That was what Arthur was here for. That was his goal. Well, it was just a part of it, but it was the first part, and right now it was the most important part. The rest of it could wait until Eames _was_ stronger.

Slowly Eames began to resemble the man that Arthur remembered. He was gaunt and haggard, but he no longer looked like a ghost of himself, and Arthur wasn't afraid he'd break to pieces each time he hefted him into the tub. In fact, after the first time, when Arthur had to lift him bodily Eames was recovered enough that he was able to climb in and out himself, albeit with plenty of support and help from Arthur.

All told, it took four and a half days before Eames reached the point that Arthur felt comfortable asking him questions. And not once did Eames protest, complain, or try to kick Arthur out. In fact, he was remarkably quiet and tractable, something that concerned Arthur, more than a little.

Still, it did make his self-appointed job easier, and he took advantage of it. Keeping Eames clean-shaven, making sure he wore warm clothing, making sure he _didn't_ wear his hair in that horrible side-part that Arthur had always hated....

Arthur supposed that it wasn't really his place to do all this. They were colleagues first, fuck-buddies second, and calling them friends was enough of a stretch that no one had ever done so, outside of Ariadne, back during the Fischer job. And Arthur had corrected her immediately on that misnomer. He still didn't know what she had thought she'd seen between them in order to come to that conclusion.

All in all, Arthur felt that he was doing pretty well by Eames. And Eames didn't seem inclined to say differently. In part, because Eames wasn't inclined to say _anything_ , but Arthur set that thought aside as largely unhelpful. Besides, if he had his way, soon enough they'd be doing plenty of talking.

"Arthur," Eames said on the afternoon of the fourth day, and it made Arthur feel warm to hear his name spoken in that familiar drawl, though it was sad how hoarse Eames' voice was. "Not that I'm not grateful for the help, but... what are you doing here?"

Arthur had given his reply a lot of thought in the last several days. Since before he had even arrived, in fact. He still wasn't sure he had the right answer, and so he spoke the truth instead.

"I'm here because you didn't ask me for help."

"What?"

He grimaced at the flat tone of Eames' voice, but pressed onward.

"Every time I've asked you for help, you came right away," he said. "Each time you've asked me for help, I've showed up. This time you clearly needed my help, in a couple of different ways, and yet you didn't contact me. I need to know why, but even more than that, I needed to come and do what I could."

Eames was giving him an unreadable look. Arthur wasn't sure, it was hard to tell when Eames was so infirm and exhausted, but it almost looked to him as though Eames was... heartbroken. But that was just ridiculous.

"Don't you think..." Eames paused and cleared his throat. "Don't you think that if I'd wanted your help, I'd have asked for it?"

"In the past I'd have thought so," Arthur said evenly. Eames was sitting on freshly changed sheets, propped up against a pile of pillows. Arthur had been sleeping on the room's sofa, which was incredibly uncomfortable, but he wasn't going to start sharing a bed with Eames just because Eames had been careless and gotten dosed with a bad mixture of chemicals. Something had changed between them, but Arthur was still trying to figure out what it was. He wasn't going to rush into anything.

Anyway, he had no idea whether he'd be _welcome_ in Eames' bed. After all, hadn't Eames made it clear in the past few months that he didn't want to have anything to do with Arthur?

"Now, though," Arthur continued, curling one leg up under himself where he was perched on the edge of the mattress, "I find myself wondering whether you'd come if I called."

Eames flushed, and since he was so pale, the color restrained itself to two hectic patches of red on the apples of his cheeks. In a strange way this made him look even less healthy, as though he was feverish. Not that it took much for Eames to look unwell at this point, even if he was doing better than he'd been when Arthur had arrived.

"I would have," he ground out. "If you'd needed help, I'd have helped."

"Then why didn't you contact me when _you_ needed help?" Arthur pursued. "You had to know I'd have come."

"Well, I was hardly in any fit shape--" Eames began, before he interrupted himself with a bout of coughing.

Arthur shook his head. "I didn't mean because of this, though you really _did_ need me to take care of you. Or someone, at any rate. No, I'm talking about before this."

Eames went white again, turning his gaze away. "I dunno what you're talking about," he mumbled.

"The hell you don't." Arthur was feeling less than charitable. He'd used up all his altruistic inclinations in the past several days, taking care of Eames. Arthur recognized the need to be gentle with the man, but he was through trying to handle Eames as though he was the victim here. It was possible that he _was_. But until he told Arthur what had happened, Arthur wasn't going to know, now, was he?

Then there was the whole question of why Eames had been avoiding Arthur in the first place. But Arthur wasn't ready to tackle that, and he was absolutely sure that Eames couldn't handle it. He wanted to know... very much wanted to know. But he wasn't going to ask about that now. In all honesty, he was a little afraid of the answer.

"When your entire team died and people started blaming you, why didn't you contact me?" Arthur asked point blank.

Eames shot him a slanted glare from under heavy brows, which was an awfully sullen expression considering all that Arthur had been doing for him, Arthur thought. "Why would I? What could you have done?"

"I could have helped you to negate the rumors," Arthur argued. "Hell, if you'd come to me right away, I could have made sure that the rumors never started."

Eames sat there silently for a long moment, and Arthur watched his chest rising and falling. There were all kinds of strange thoughts fighting to break free of the back of his mind, unaccustomed emotions bubbling in his heart, but he remained focused. This was an important conversation.

"What makes you think they weren't true?" Eames finally asked, and there was something heavy in his voice, something that weighed on Arthur as though it was his own burden to bear.

"Were they?" he asked, incredulous, because he didn't believe that for a second.

Eames flashed Arthur a look as though he'd betrayed him, even though Arthur hadn't really meant the question, had only asked it at Eames' prompting.

"Well?" Arthur lifted his brows, knowing it was a somewhat obnoxious expression but not caring.

Eames pressed his lips together and turned his gaze away again.

"Eames." Arthur held onto his temper... barely. "Talk to me."

"Why?"

Arthur clenched his hands and gritted his teeth. He didn't dare to grab a hold of Eames and shake him right now; he'd probably render him unconscious if he did so, the fragile state the man was in.

"Because if you don't start telling me what happened, I will start telling you what I think happened. And that would be a waste of time for both of us."

Eames gave Arthur what could only be described as a skeptical look, and Arthur had to admit that it was a lame threat at best. But it proved to be an effective one, when Eames began talking after all.

"It was just a job, like any other. Something went wrong and everyone died but me. Who's to say who was to blame?"

That had been completely unhelpful, Arthur thought. "People generally like to assign blame," he said in what he thought was a reasonable tone of voice. "Especially when there's a chance that they might be the ones to end up dead next time. In this case they assigned the blame to you. What I haven't been able to figure out is whether that was because you were the only one who survived, or whether they actually had cause."

Eames shrugged and his expression was sullen and stubborn. Arthur knew that look. That was the look that told him Eames was done talking.

"All right," he said. He'd probably pushed it as hard as he could considering how poorly Eames was still feeling. He was a little surprised that Eames had been willing to talk to him at all, though he'd really hoped for more actual answers than he'd come away with.

When Arthur didn't continue, Eames peered at him through bangs that were sorely in need of a trim. "That's it?"

"For now," Arthur replied with unapologetic honesty. He wasn't done yet. He'd really been hoping that Eames would just _tell_ him, but he obviously wasn't going to do so. This meant that Arthur had two options. He could revisit the subject later, and hope that Eames would have softened in the meantime. This was unlikely to work, he had to admit. The second option was to do independent research into what had happened. So far he'd been unsuccessful in this, but he'd be the first to say that he hadn't been trying as hard as he could have been to find out all the details.

Now Eames looked a little anxious. With good reason, Arthur thought, but it wasn't as though he hadn't given Eames plenty of chance to talk.

"So why am I here, Eames?" Arthur asked.

Eames blinked at him. "I believe I already asked that question," he said, reasonably enough. He sounded a little as though he was speaking through a throat-full of gravel, but he was getting better.

"You don't want to tell me what happened during that disastrous job. You didn't call me for help when you got yourself virtually blacklisted. You didn't contact me when that sorry excuse for a chemist almost killed you. But here I am anyway."

Eames was staring at him, his face completely blank in that way that meant he was doing his best to disguise his confusion. Arthur noted all over again the weight that Eames had lost. His cheekbones were sharp, his jaw sharper. His lips looked even more plump without the framing stubble, and his lashes looked longer now that the slight puffiness around his eyes was gone.

Arthur was a little disturbed by how attractive he found Eames to be right now, considering that he also looked as though he'd been fighting for his life for about a week; what was what had happened. Then again, considering how long it had been since the last time they'd had sex....

"So...." Eames licked his lips, which were no longer chapped but which were still red and irritated. And that was more sexy than it should have been too. "Why _are_ you here then, Arthur?"

Arthur quirked a half smile at him, and shook his head slightly. "Actually, I'm still trying to figure that out myself."

"Well, let me know when you do," Eames said, but he sounded uncertain rather than scathing, and he was looking at Arthur with a lost sort of vulnerability that made Arthur want to wrap him up in a thick blanket and then in his arms, holding him close.

"Maybe." Arthur knew he was being a bit cruel, but he was only trying to do the right thing here. Even if he wasn't quite certain what that was yet. "Why should I be more forthcoming than you, though? Tell me that."

Eames cast his eyes down again, and reached a shaking hand up to rub at his upper lip. "Because... some secrets aren't mine to give away," he muttered.

Arthur said nothing as Eames turned away from him, sliding under the covers and pulling the comforter up around his ears, but his mind was racing. Whether he realized it or not, Eames had given a lot away with that last sentence. Now Arthur could be sure that there was definitely more to that botched job than rumor had given him.

And he thought that he knew where to start in his search.

+++

The problem with finding out what had happened during a job where everyone other than Eames had died was that there wasn't anyone other than Eames to ask. And Eames wasn't talking.

But there were other ways to get information, and Arthur was stubborn. He liked to work with facts and figures, with details and with certainties. But he was flexible. When there weren't any facts to be had, he might be able to extrapolate what had happened from what he knew of the job and the people involved.

For example, the man who had been in charge of the extraction.

Sebastian Graves had been the dream-share worker to pioneer forging, and Eames had learned from him, directly from the best. Actually, Arthur was pretty sure that Eames had expanded and improved on a lot of Graves' techniques. But, while Eames hadn't been the sort to stand in his teacher's shadow, neither would he have stolen any fame or fortune from someone he respected.

This was something that it had taken Arthur a while to realize. Eames made such a good show of being egotistical, that Arthur hadn't noticed right away how often his subtle barbs were aimed at himself, how often he put himself down. Seemingly to do so before anyone else could, not that Arthur thought many would be inclined. And Eames was a bitch about accepting compliments.

There was also the fact that Eames liked to keep a low profile. Yes, he wanted to be well known as being the best at what he did, especially in the circles where this mattered, but being celebrated made it harder to be anonymous when it became necessary. And Eames valued his anonymity.

Arthur had never met Graves, but he'd heard of the man. Brilliant, inventive, and with an ego to match his skills. It probably would have been impressive watching he and Eames work together, but they had been moving in completely different circles than Arthur, not to mention working in different parts of the world, for decidedly disparate groups.

Not wanting to overlook anything, Arthur began exploring the other particulars of the disastrous job. It had been a rather large team as such things went; at least for a simple extraction, not something like inception. There had been Graves, Eames, and three other people working together. That was what had made it all the more tragic when all of them had died. All of them but Eames.

They'd had a chemist, an architect, and an extractor, which made it a little strange that both Graves and Eames had been on the job. But maybe it had needed two forgers. Just because Arthur had never worked a job that needed two forgers didn't mean that they didn't exist. And if he'd needed a second forger, Graves couldn't have chosen anyone better than Eames.

Arthur got online while Eames dozed on the bed, his energy seeming completely drained by their short but emotionally charged conversation. There was information to be found about those who worked in the dream-share if one knew where to look, and Arthur knew where to look.

The chemist had been reputable and responsible. His death had been a great loss, especially when so-called chemists like the bastard who had poisoned Eames and nearly killed him were still running loose, mixing dangerous chemicals.

The architect had been experienced, as had been the extractor, and the gossip had been that they'd been partners in more than just dream-share work. Arthur didn't know whether that made it more or less tragic that they'd died together. Probably less, but doubly tragic that they'd died at all.

There really was very little information on what had happened, which was frustrating. But Arthur wouldn't be where he was if he'd let a little frustration stop him. And he had plenty of time to look into it, with Eames sleeping. And Arthur felt remarkably little guilt, considering Eames' unwillingness to discuss the matter when he was awake.

It hadn't been a misstep on the chemist's part, like had happened during Eames' last job. As far as Arthur could tell, the architect and extractor hadn't made any mistakes. Maybe he should have asked Eames how the job had gone wrong before he'd asked him about who was to blame; maybe Eames would have been more willing to talk about _that_.

Then again, maybe not.

Arthur was beginning to suspect that the deaths might have had something to do with the job's mark... but without knowing who that had been, he was a little limited in that line of inquiry.

So, Arthur mused, thinking over what he did know. Graves had been in charge of the job, and had brought Eames into it. Eames had a lot of loyalty to Graves, and Graves had been a man with a lot of pride. If something had gone wrong, would Graves have been the kind of man to seek help? To even admit that he'd needed help?

Eames would have done what he could, Arthur thought. Which might be why Eames was still alive. Or it might have been sheer luck. As long as cards and chips weren't involved, Eames had freakishly good luck. In the casinos, sometimes not so much, but real life was more important than gambling for money. Well, whatever the reason, Arthur was very glad that Eames had survived. That he had survived both Graves' botched job and his near-poisoning during this most recent one.

Once Arthur had reached the limit of what he could discover on the internet, he found himself in a position of being a little closer to the truth, but still nowhere near it.

He thought he had a better idea of where to start, though, once he began questioning Eames again. Because that _was_ going to happen.

Closing his laptop with a frown, Arthur picked up his phone to order lunch. For as long as Eames needed him he would stay, but now that Eames was getting to the point that he was functional again, it was becoming more likely that he would tell Arthur to leave and mean it. And if he did that... well, if he told Arthur to leave and _meant_ it, then Arthur would have to leave.

And that was another question Arthur needed answered, he mused, glancing over at the huddled figure in the bed. One that was far more vital to him than the story behind Graves' job and the rumors that had brought Eames down to this point. But it was also far more personal, and he was as much frightened of the answer as he was eager to hear it, so he was putting off asking it in favor of all the other things he wanted to know.

He wondered if, in a strange sick way, he was almost _glad_ that the chemist in Eames' last job had nearly killed him. Because if Eames hadn't been rendered this weak and vulnerable, if he hadn't needed someone to take care of him so badly, would he have let Arthur catch up with him? The way he'd avoided Arthur up to this point seemed to indicate an answer in the negative.

Well, Arthur intended to make the most of this opportunity, and he needed to do so before Eames kicked him out. He didn't dare to lose this last chance.

Even if he didn't quite know why it had come down to a _last_ chance.

+++

The next time Eames emerged from the bedcovers he mumbled something into his chest that Arthur missed, even though he'd thought that his hearing was pretty damned good.

"What was that?" he asked, a little distracted since he was peeling the onions off of Eames' sandwich. He knew they gave Eames heartburn, and that was the last thing he needed now, when he was still so weak.

It was continually startling to Arthur, to realize that he knew so much about Eames... but when he cast his thoughts that direction, he recognized that Eames was just as knowledgeable where Arthur was concerned. Eames knew what wine Arthur preferred, he knew not to get a room facing west, he knew Arthur's underwear size; and hadn't that last one startled and disturbed Arthur even though they'd been fucking for quite some time.

"I said... thank you," Eames repeated, glancing up at Arthur through his long lashes. "I... I don't know why you're here, but I'm... I'm glad you are."

Arthur blinked a few times. He never would have thought he'd get this much out of Eames. The thanks were just good manners. But Eames had told Arthur that he was glad Arthur was here, and he hadn't sounded as though he'd said it just to say it.

Arthur contemplated how to reply as he handed over the sandwich and a few napkins. Eames was still shaky, and Arthur knew he wouldn't eat more than half of his meal, but he was doing better.

"I wish I'd come sooner," he finally said, because that was only the truth. "It can't have been easy, taking care of yourself the first couple of days. Claus is a freaking idiot."

Eames let out a little huff that might have been humor if he hadn't been so weak yet. Arthur was captivated by the upward curl of his lips, and it came to him that for all they'd fucked so many times, he and Eames hadn't kissed very often. And when they had, it had usually been Eames kissing Arthur rather than the other way around. Arthur really needed to remedy that lack on his own part. But he wasn't sure Eames was going to allow it from here on out....

"It wasn't much worse than having a really bad case of the flu, I guess," Eames rumbled, taking a bite of his sandwich. He waited until he was done chewing and swallowing before he continued. "Well, okay. It was much worse. Worse than the flu. Worse than any drinking binge or hangover.... At the beginning of it, I would have honestly rather been dead."

Arthur nodded. There had been all too many brushes with death lately, and he knew that Eames wasn't joking or indulging in hyperbole. He meant what he had just said, and the mere thought sent a shaft of icy pain through Arthur's heart. To imagine a world where Eames was dead? Where Arthur hadn't had a chance to talk to him and make amends for whatever had gone sour between them? It wasn't to be countenanced.

"I'm... I'm glad you're not dead," he said, and there was no disguising the way his voice had cracked, as his throat had tightened around the words.

Eames looked at him as though he had said something far more revealing, but instead of saying anything further, he shoved more of his sandwich in his mouth, then turned his eyes away again.

"Let's move to a different hotel," Arthur said, once he'd regained control of himself. "Tomorrow."

Eames nodded silently. Arthur had avoiding this suggestion earlier, in part because Eames was still so weak, and in part because he was half afraid that if he had done so, Eames would have suggested they split up.

That didn't seem to be his inclination right now, though. And Arthur let out a silent sigh of relief.

+++

Once the idea had entered his head, Arthur wasn't going to rest until he'd gotten them into a different hotel. A better hotel. A hotel where Eames hadn't _almost died_.

Also, a hotel with two beds might not be the worst thing in the world. Arthur wondered whether his spine was ever going to recover from the nights he had spent on the pathetic excuse for a sofa that this room boasted. He wondered whether he'd have been welcome in bed with Eames all this time, or not, but without asking he had no way of knowing, and he wasn't willing to ask. He was too afraid the answer would be in the negative.

While he packed their things and made a halfhearted effort at tidying up the detritus of meals and medication that littered the furniture and floor in the room, Arthur could feel Eames' eyes on him, as though his gaze had a physical weight.

"I'm not railroading you, am I?" Arthur asked, suddenly feeling unaccountably insecure. Something he wasn't used to, but Eames had always been able to get under his skin in a way no one else could.

This was something that Arthur had tried to deny or ignore up to this point. But he was beginning to think that maybe it was something that he needed to look into. Not right this instant, though.

Eames shook his head slowly. Arthur suspected he was doing that in order to rein in some dizziness, but if that was true he also knew Eames wasn't going to let on. Even when he was so fatigued and frail he could barely walk to the bathroom to pee under his own power, even when Arthur had seen him when he was so broken down that he couldn't even manage that much, Eames still wasn't going to reveal any more weakness to Arthur than he had to.

Arthur didn't take it personally. That was just the way Eames was. Well... he _tried_ not to take it personally.

"I'll be glad to be shed of this place," Eames husked, and Arthur wasn't sure whether he wanted more to get the other man some soothing tea or kiss him. Since he wasn't very confident about how Eames would respond to the latter he settled for the former, filling a mug with water and dropping in a tea bag. "After almost dying here and all."

"And it's a shithole," Arthur added, punching the numbers on the stained microwave with more force than he needed, because he didn't want to let Eames know how closely his reasoning had echoed Arthur's own.

Eames gave a mirthless grin. "Well. I didn't exactly choose it for its ambiance. When the effects of Claus' sedative were just starting to hit, I knew I needed somewhere to hide where no one would ask questions. And I didn't have enough cash on me to pull off one of the more high end places."

Arthur nodded. In a place like this, people kept their questions to themselves. In a fancier place they only kept mum if you could pay for their silence and incuriosity. If he'd been strapped for money -- and considering the fact that no one respectable would work with him due to the rumors, Eames most certainly would have been -- this shithole would have been his best option.

"I'm not keeping you from working, am I?" Eames asked suddenly, his brow creasing in a frown as though he was actually concerned about the answer to this question. Knowing how ridiculous he was, he probably _was_ concerned. Arthur was actually a little touched. But he was also exasperated.

Arthur pulled the steaming mug out of the microwave, squeezed in a dollop of honey, and then crossed to sit on the edge of the bed, pressing the tea into Eames' hands. Once he'd been able to assure himself Eames wouldn't either run or stop breathing while he was out, he'd made a trip to the nearest store for all the things Eames had needed. Tea, honey, crackers, ginger ale, soup.... It had almost been as though Eames _had_ only gotten the flu. Except for the fact that he'd nearly died.

"I didn't have anything lined up," Arthur told Eames in all honesty. He debated continuing for a moment, then decided to take the chance. "I was already planning to track you down when I heard about what happened to you, when I heard what Claus had done."

Eames' full lips turned down at the corners.

"I wanted to make sure you were okay," Arthur said, and he knew his jaw was tight, but he couldn't force himself to relax. "Then I found out you definitely weren't."

"And so you came galloping to the rescue," Eames said, and Arthur didn't like his tone of voice. It was entirely too bitter to be teasing. "On your white stallion."

Arthur snorted. "In my rented Toyota," he corrected. "Far more practical."

In a lightning-swift change of mood, Eames gave him a small smile. "Not quite as dashing, that."

"I'm dashing enough to make up for it," Arthur replied with a vague wave of his hand. He was well aware of his rolled-up sleeves, his wrinkled collar, the ketchup stain on one knee of his trousers, and the way he'd stopped bothering to pomade his hair within twenty-four hours of arriving in this hotel. He was hardly the template of dashing right now, hadn't been in a while.

Eames' eyes were bright, and they crinkled at the corners a little as he met Arthur's gaze.

"Well. You are at that," he said softly. "My knight in bespoke armor."

Arthur snorted, but he found he was grinning in return. It might not last, but in this moment things between them were almost back to how they had used to be.

It felt good. He wanted to have this again. Arthur needed to fix things between them, so that they could have this all the time, in the future. He just needed to figure out how.

But to do that, he needed to figure out what had gone wrong in the first place.

+++

Moving to a new hotel turned out to be no great ordeal. Eames was able to walk to the car, even though Arthur had to carry all their luggage, and then walk inside the new place, though he was leaning rather heavily against the walls by the time they reached their door.

They had two queen sized beds, the sheets were soft instead of starchy, the towels were fluffy instead of threadbare, and there was a small kitchenette in one corner.

"Good choice," was all Eames said, though to his credit he only sounded a little sardonic, and then he flopped down on one of the beds and fell sound asleep, the effort of getting here having completely drained him.

Arthur took this opportunity to take a long, hot shower. Then he dressed in clean clothes and settled on the bed beside Eames with his laptop.

It might be a bit ridiculous, especially considering the fact that they now had two beds, but while he had been bathing, Arthur had started to think all over again about how close to death Eames had really come. And now... well, now he just needed to be _near_ Eames. To hear him breathing in those heavy little gusts that weren't quite a snore, to feel the body heat radiating off of him in definitive proof that he was still alive.

Arthur had sent out some feelers, and he was hoping to have gotten some information back. Just because he wasn't nagging at Eames, and just because they hadn't discussed it since that first time, that didn't mean that Arthur wasn't still on a quest to find out what had happened and why.

As he waited for his computer to boot up, Arthur reached over and trailed his fingers through Eames' hair. It was incongruously soft for what a mess it looked, and it came to him suddenly that he liked sitting here like this.

In the past, if Arthur had given Eames' hair any thought he'd most likely have been burying his fingers in it and holding it tightly while Eames had his face sunk between his thighs or while he'd been fucking into his tight ass. But right now Arthur only wanted to protect Eames, to keep him safe.

And he wasn't sure whether this was something new, or whether it was only his acknowledgement of this desire that was new.

Then Arthur's laptop came on, and Arthur turned his attention to connecting to the hotel wireless, then accessing one of his private email accounts. There wasn't a whole lot there that was new, but Arthur thought that he had a better feel for the situation. And if he was going to confront Eames about what had happened during Graves' job, he wanted to have as much information as he could.

It was entirely possible, while he made his way through his inbox and navigated a few informational links, that his free hand strayed over from time to time to pet Eames' hair in a move that was as much to comfort himself as Eames.

But Eames was still asleep, and so he didn't need to know about that.

+++

They had a lot more to discuss, but Arthur decided to start with the easiest topic.

He waited until they were settled into their new hotel room, their clothing unpacked, their dinner on its way up via room service. Eames had awakened after a couple of hours and had taken his turn showering. Arthur was still afraid that Eames would slip and fall over in the shower stall, but he couldn't emasculate the man by offering to help him; not when Eames had already been forced to expose so much weakness to Arthur.

Arthur wished that he could regret this more than he actually did. He knew that Eames must hate this, must be hating every moment of it, and yet there was something about it....

It wasn't that Arthur _liked_ seeing Eames brought down and humbled like this, of course. They might not always get along, but Arthur respected Eames and he actually liked him most of the time, when Eames wasn't actively trying to drive him to distraction.

No, it was because when Eames was like this, Arthur got to see the _real_ Eames. It wasn't just in the dream-share; Eames hid his true emotions behind masks while waking as well. It had taken Arthur a while to recognize this fact, and even longer for it to bother him, but now that he'd seen it, he couldn't ignore it.

So now, while Eames was still vulnerable and recovering, Arthur felt he had his best chance for trying to come to understand the forger's recent changes in behavior.

But before he tackled that, he first needed to find out what had happened during Graves' disastrous job. In part because Eames was more likely to talk about it... and in part because it was easier for Arthur to talk about it. He also felt more secure in making educated deductions, bluffing his way through when he still didn't really know the truth. It was always easier talking about facts than emotions, even when he didn't have any of the facts. Not that he had a good grasp on the emotions present between them either.

Arthur thought that now was going to be the best time. They were both clean and wearing fresh clothing. Eames' hair was still damp from his shower, and he needed a shave. Arthur's hair was still free of product, which he knew Eames preferred, even though Arthur only rarely indulged him in this. Eames was lounging on his bed, a soft fleece blanket covering his legs and a mug of hot tea cradled in his hands. He wasn't shaking anymore, which Arthur took as a huge improvement over the last few days.

Arthur sat on his own bed, even though he'd have preferred to join Eames. But this was kind of the point of getting two beds, and he felt instinctively that Eames would react better if there was a little space between them.

He had to admit that whether consciously or subconsciously, he'd been hoping that waiting until now -- with everything put away, their beds chosen, the bathroom shared, and food on its way to being delivered -- that Eames would be less likely to get angry and demand that Arthur leave. Adding to this the fact that Arthur had paid for this room....

Well, putting it off any longer wasn't going to help anything, Arthur thought. And Eames was probably just waiting for him to say something. Eames knew Arthur well enough to know that he wouldn't have let this go. There was no good to come from dragging things out, and Arthur had already put this conversation off long enough.

Arthur looked over at Eames, and Eames gazed back at him over the rim of his mug.

"Just get it over with," Eames growled, and Arthur bit back a wince. While it was nice that their minds were working on the same wavelength, he'd hesitated a little too long and now Eames was on the defensive. He'd have to see what he could do about that.

"It was Graves, wasn't it," he said, keeping his voice calm and level, speaking as though he _knew_ this for a fact, as though he wasn't guessing. "It was his fault that they all died, and you're taking the blame for his sake."

Eames flinched and turned his eyes away, glancing down into his tea. "I was hoping you wouldn't figure that out," he mumbled.

Arthur breathed sharply through his nose, trying not to snort or to sigh, because either one would be equally offensive. He was relieved to know that he'd made the right deduction, but now he had a whole new set of problems to deal with.

"Eames," he said, because he had to _try_ talking some sense into the man, even if it was a waste of breath. "I know you felt loyalty to the man as your mentor. But he's dead now and you're alive. You can't.... You nearly _died_ because you accepted the blame for something you weren't responsible for and now no one who's any good will work with you. This isn't right!"

Eames had that stubborn look on his face that Arthur knew all too well.

"You know about loyalty, Arthur," he said, and he still wasn't meeting Arthur's eyes. He looked more alive than he had just a few days ago, though, and Arthur was glad he'd waited until now to tackle this subject. "After all, you stuck by Cobb--"

This time Arthur did snort, scoffing at that idea before it had even escaped Eames' lips. "Do you think I worked with Cobb out of loyalty?" He shook his head. "I worked with Cobb because he was an amazing extractor, Eames. Even when he couldn't work as an architect anymore, he still had that. Any other devotion to him that you might have inferred was strictly in your imagination, let me assure you."

Eames had raised his eyes and was staring at Arthur in something like shock.

"That's...." He licked his lips, then took a bracing swig of tea, but kept his gaze on Arthur. "You've just crushed most of my fantasies about your chivalrous nature."

Arthur shrugged. "I came here for you, didn't I? You just have to ask yourself _who_ I'm loyal to." And he didn't push it any further than that, because they were talking about something else right now. But he could hope that he'd given Eames something to think about.

"The point of the matter," he continued, before Eames could say anything to further derail the subject, "Is that your loyalty to a dead man, however much you loved and respected him, has affected you detrimentally to the point that you've nearly _died_. Do you really think that this is what Graves would have wanted for you?"

Eames shook his head. "Oh, don't pull out that old saw, Arthur."

"Fine." Arthur scowled. "Then how about this; do you think that this is what _people who are still alive_ want for you? Do you think Ariadne would be happy to hear that you died in disgrace? Do you want me to have to live the rest of my life knowing that I couldn't stop you from getting yourself killed to protect a dead man's pride?"

"It's--" Eames seemed at a loss, seemed stunned by this barrage, even though he had to have known that something like this would be coming at some point. "Ariadne wouldn't care," he scoffed weakly, and it figured that he would fixate on that part of what Arthur had said. "She barely remembers me, I'm sure."

"Yeah, and _I'm_ sure that's the reason she asks me every time I see her how you're doing," Arthur replied scathingly. He wasn't going to let that one go. He couldn't. "You make an impact on people even when you don't think you do, Eames. And, while we're on the subject, I know for a fact that she'd appreciate it if you dropped her a line from time to time."

Eames shook his head stubbornly. "Better she not get entangled with a bounder like me," he said. "And, honestly, it's been over a year...."

"It was her first job in the dream-share," Arthur explained as patiently as he was able. "Don't you remember who you worked with during your first job?" Eames met his pointed stare with a blank expression, and Arthur could feel his mouth twisting. "Oh, wait, that was Graves," he said, as dryly as he could manage. "And you've remained loyal to him to the point that it's nearly _killed_ you."

This was the point at which there came a knock on the door. Arthur rose to deal with their room service, grateful for this chance to get in the last word, at least for the moment. They weren't done with this subject, not by a long shot. But hopefully Eames would give what he had said some consideration while Arthur set their dinner up on the round oak table the hotel room boasted.

Eames shuffled over to join him, and Arthur hated seeing him walk like an old man, but at least he was on his own two feet. At least he was _alive_.

Arthur had put out the word about Claus. Not that it was news; this wasn't the first time he'd nearly offed someone with a poorly mixed compound. But it was the first time it had been someone Arthur had known, someone he was so emotionally invested in. He was still considering whether or not Claus should have an... _accident_.... But right now he was more concerned with getting things worked out for Eames. And Eames was certainly never working with Claus again.

"It's not like that," Eames told Arthur as he sat down -- more like falling into the chair -- and reached for a fork. At least he seemed willing enough to continue the conversation, so that Arthur didn't have to coax him back to it. "It's not the same thing at all."

"I know Graves was your mentor," Arthur said as he sat opposite Eames and pulled his own plate toward him. He didn't feel much like eating, but it gave them something to do as they talked. It gave him a feeling of permanence, as well, in a strange manner of speaking.

Because Eames was less likely to kick Arthur out when they were eating a meal Arthur had ordered in a room that Arthur had paid for... right? And he certainly wasn't strong enough to storm out himself. That was still Arthur's greatest fear; that Eames would demand one or the other of them leave before he got everything sorted out.

"It was more than that," Eames argued, beginning to slice his steak. He had enough strength for that, and it was a good thing to see, but the implication of what he'd said struck Arthur and sent a chill through him.

"Were you two... lovers?" he asked hesitantly. The thought filled him with something that was dangerously close to jealousy, even though he and Eames had been nearly a full decade away from knowing each other at the time Eames had been apprenticed to Graves.

"What? No!" Eames shot him an outraged look. Arthur didn't think it was such an outlandish guess. Graves hadn't been an entirely unattractive man, and twelve to fifteen years ago -- Arthur hadn't been able to narrow it down any further than that -- he might have still been rather robust....

"Don't be ridiculous," Eames sniffed, and Arthur almost smiled, but this subject was too serious. "We never slept together. Sebastian liked women." Eames shook his head. "I just meant that he saved me, pulled me out of a really bad place and got me set on my way. He gave me everything I had at the time, he was the father I hadn't had before, and he never asked me for anything in return."

"Ah." That actually made this much more difficult, Arthur thought. If Eames had such an elevated opinion of Graves, such fondness for the man's memory, then it was going to be a lot harder to talk him into letting the world know that it had been Graves who had made the mistake to cost nearly his whole team their lives.

"And I'm more than half convinced that the only reason I survived when the others died was because Sebastian figured what was going on at the last minute and did what he could to save me," Eames added. "After all that, what can I do but honor his name?"

"Eames," Arthur tried, though he was beginning to suspect it was hopeless. "You're not honoring his name. You're only hurting yourself. Mistakes get made. Unless Graves deliberately sabotaged his own job, there's no harm in letting people know what really happened. And even then, he's no longer alive. You have to take care of the one who's still alive. You have to take care of _yourself_."

Eames set down his fork and gave Arthur a long, steady look. He didn't seem overly emotional, though, and he didn't look upset. More than anything he looked thoughtful.

"I appreciate your concern, Arthur," he said finally. "But you and I have different ways of looking at this. And I'm not going to betray my memory of Sebastian for my own sake. That's not the way these things work."

Arthur could have come around the table and simply _shaken_ Eames, but he restrained himself. Because, as Eames had said, they had different ways of viewing this subject. Just because Arthur was convinced that his way was the _right_ way....

"I'm sorry," Eames said softly, and he really shouldn't be apologizing, Arthur thought with sudden sharpness. "But you're not going to change my mind."

Arthur stabbed at his baked potato, then ate some of his dinner to give himself time to think. He'd gotten some of what he'd wanted out of Eames. He now knew why Eames had allowed the rumors to spread, and he'd verified that he'd been right to think that the rumors had been false. But it seemed as though Eames wasn't willing to get the word out that he was innocent, and so getting all this fixed might prove to be harder than Arthur had anticipated.

"Okay, then," he said, taking a drink of water and wishing that he'd gotten them some wine with dinner. Honestly, he didn't think Eames was up to alcohol yet, but he sure could have used some himself. "That means that we need to figure out a different way to fix this."

Eames blinked at him, and he'd eaten most of his dinner while they'd been talking, which pleased Arthur even though he had other concerns right this instant.

"Fix...?"

"Well, I was coming to see you before you got yourself poisoned," Arthur said reasonably. "I wanted to make sure something like that didn't happen, and then it did. You've got an amazing talent, you're intelligent and intuitive, and your abilities are being absolutely _wasted_ on the pathetic assholes and terrible jobs you've been reduced to working with."

Eames' mouth was hanging open, but Arthur wasn't done yet. "If you're not going to spread the word that you weren't responsible for what happened, then we're just going to have to make working with you so desirable that no one will care anymore."

"You... you just...."

Arthur ignored the fact that Eames had dipped his hand into his pocket, most likely groping for his totem. He was too busy thinking, making plans for the future.

"If word were to get out that no one could hire me without hiring you as well.... And I could talk to Ariadne, maybe get her to throw her lot in with ours, on the jobs that don't actually involve doing something illegal, of course--"

"Arthur!" Eames interrupted, and his eyes were wide and frenetic. Arthur felt a little bad, but not really. Eames had brought this down on his own head with his stubborn refusal to protect himself. If he wouldn't do it, then other people were just going to have to do it for him. _Arthur_ was going to have to do it for him.

"We can make this work," he told Eames calmly. "And you won't have to betray Graves' memory."

"But why would--" Eames sputtered, and his face was growing red, which Arthur watched with confusion and growing trepidation. "Why would you--"

"Why would I what?" Arthur asked, even though he felt as though he was potentially setting a match to a keg of gunpowder. And, sure enough....

"Why would you do all this when you couldn't even be bothered to spend the night with me, no matter how many times I asked?!" Eames snapped, scooting his chair back abruptly, but not rising. "Why are you here, spending _days_ nursing me back to health when I begged you for a few hours more, and you _left_ every single time?!"

And that was it, Arthur thought. The mystery of why Eames had been avoiding him before the Graves debacle, answered without Arthur even needing to ask. Not that he hadn't suspected... but he'd been doing his best to ignore the niggling at the back of his mind.

The knowledge settled into the base of his stomach like a rock, but he knew what he wanted now and he knew how he intended to fix it. Maybe it hadn't become clear to him until he had almost lost Eames, but he knew what he wanted, and how he wanted it.

Now he just needed to try to convince Eames of his intent, and pray that he wasn't offering too little too late.

"I'm sorry," he started with, because he was, and because he hoped that an apology might soften his way a little. He'd a feeling this conversation was going to make or break him, and he was going to do his best not to screw it up. He might not get a second chance. So he had to hope that right now Eames was willing to give him a first chance.

Eames choked on something that wasn't really a laugh, and Arthur hurried on before he could falter.

"I'm sorry for not taking you seriously when you asked me to stay. If it helps any, I was leaving for the sake of our safety. To keep rumors from starting and people trying to use us against each other."

Eames shook his head, and Arthur hurried on before he could interrupt.

"And, to be fair, I didn't realize how you felt. I didn't... Eames, I didn't even realize how _I_ felt about you until I heard you'd nearly died -- no, until I saw you lying on that shitty bed in your shitty hotel room. It's not.... I wasn't being deliberately cruel. I was just kind of...."

"Dense?"

He met Eames' gaze as steadily as he could and nodded. "I suppose you get to feel superior now, seeing as you figured it out before me."

There was a rueful quirk to Eames' lips, and his eyes were bright. Arthur's heart was pounding in the back of his throat and he was beginning to hope he might have a chance. "Well. Not that much before," Eames husked. "It only really came to me around the time I started avoiding you.... I just... couldn't take it anymore. I was..." he flushed and cast his gaze downward, "I was starting to feel a bit like a glorified sex toy."

This startled an honest laugh out of Arthur. "Hardly that!" he said, and he rose from his chair and went over to kneel before Eames, unwilling to be so far separate from him, trying to catch his eye. "I was thinking more along the lines of fuck buddies. But it turned into more than that, didn't it? So slowly that I completely missed it."

Eames gave a little shrug. "I can't blame you. I never said anything. I was afraid to, because it didn't seem to mean as much to you as it did to me. I didn't want to lose what I _did_ have."

"I'm sorry," Arthur said again, with just as much meaning but for a different reason this time. "And the hell of it is that you might have been right to do what you did. I can't.... I honestly can't say how I'd have taken it, Eames. Maybe good, but...."

"But maybe not." Eames nodded, and he reached with one hand to trace the line of Arthur's lower lip, a wondering expression on his face when Arthur let him do it. "It's... it's kind of hard to believe this is really happening," he confessed softly. "If I hadn't just checked my totem...."

Arthur smiled at Eames and stood, then reached for Eames' hands. They were done eating, even if there was still food on their plates, and Arthur suddenly felt the need to be closer to Eames.

Closer even than when they'd had sex in the past, he thought as they curled up together on Eames' bed. They weren't going to have sex now, not with Eames as weak as he was now. But Arthur was going to hold Eames close in his arms, and it seemed as though Eames was going to let him.

"Is it really this easy?" Eames asked, tucking his face into the hollow between Arthur's chin and collarbone. His cheek was warm but the tip of his nose was cold.

"Eames, you cheated death twice, and you've been blacklisted in the dream-share community; I'd hardly call that easy," Arthur said, turning his head to press his cheek into Eames' wild hair. He'd missed the way Eames smelled, like warmth and exotic spices and clean skin. He didn't think Eames had put on any cologne, and he was using Arthur's bathing supplies. Arthur thrilled at the fact that Eames smelled of him, even if only a little bit.

"You know what I meant," Eames murmured, his breath hot and moist against Arthur's neck, raising gooseflesh all over his body. Eames' arm was wrapped around Arthur's waist, and it wasn't as heavy as he remembered it from before, but it was solid enough and now Arthur was allowing himself the leisure to enjoy the closeness. This was something they'd never had previously, because Arthur had always left before they could get this close.

"I'm sorry," Arthur said again, because he was. All the time they had lost....

"Stop apologizing," Eames said, and he shifted closer to Arthur. He was a lot more pointy than Arthur remembered, the last time they'd been in a clinch. Well, it only made sense. He'd lost a lot of weight. More than could be accounted for by his recent bout of compound poisoning... but if he'd been stressed out over his self-imposed split with Arthur, Graves' death, and the way he'd been shunned by most of the dream-share community, then it had probably been months since he'd eaten properly.

"If anything, I should be apologizing to you," Eames continued.

"For what?" Arthur asked, giving in to temptation and sinking his fingers into Eames' hair, rubbing at his scalp in what he hoped was a soothing manner.

"For wasting--" Eames caught himself as Arthur stiffened beneath him, "I mean, for taking up so much of your time here."

Arthur growled. "I'm here by choice," he informed Eames, moving his hand down, massaging at the nape of Eames' neck. He'd never before indulged in the opportunity to simply _touch_ Eames, and now that he was giving himself permission, he found that he was really enjoying it.

"I know," Eames said, lifting his head enough to press his lips against the sharp edge of Arthur's jaw. "I just feel like I should...."

"No, really, I need to apologize for taking so long to get to this point," Arthur argued. "But how about we both agree to stop apologizing for anything that happened in the past, all right?"

"All right," Eames said agreeably enough. Then he levered up and for a moment Arthur thought that Eames was going to kiss him, and he was looking forward to that, but Eames simply met his gaze, his eyes sharp and clear. "We're on the same page here, aren't we, Arthur?"

"I think so," Arthur said. It had come as a surprise to him, but he wasn't alone in that, evidently. "I'll spend the night, every night, from here on out. I hope you don't mind."

Eames blinked at him.

"After all," Arthur continued thoughtfully, "If we're going to fix your reputation, we're going to have to spend every moment together, at work and at home."

"That's...." Eames was breathless, but his lips were curling up at the corners. Arthur really, really wanted to kiss him, but more than that he didn't want to interrupt, wanted to hear what Eames was going to say. "That's quite a commitment, Arthur."

"I hope that's okay." Arthur smiled at Eames. "I've got a lot of time to make up for, after all."

"Don't think of it that way," Eames said earnestly. "You can't think of it that way. Let's... let's call this a fresh start."

"That sounds good," Arthur said, giving a decisive nod. "We'll get your reputation fixed without compromising Graves' memory, I'll take care of Claus, and I'm sure Ariadne will be glad to see you again."

Eames looked a little overwhelmed, and frankly a bit panicked at this barrage, and Arthur relented.

"But first let's start with this. Eames, I like spending time with you, and hope you like spending time with me."

"I do," Eames put in, but Arthur wasn't done yet.

"I won't apologize again for all the times I left or kicked you out, because I had my reasons and at the time they seemed sound. Also, because I know you don't want to hear it anymore. But I intend to make up for it from here on out. And for right now...." Eames raised his brows and Arthur grinned crookedly. "Right now, what I'd really like is to kiss you."

Eames stared at him blankly, then grinned back. "Well, what are you waiting for?" he rumbled, reaching up and sinking his fingers into Arthur's loose hair, tugging.

"Nothing." Arthur bent, pausing a moment to lick at the plump swell of Eames' lower lip. "Nothing at all," he murmured against that gorgeous mouth. There had been far too much waiting up to this point, even though Arthur hadn't really been aware of it.

They both had a lot of work to do, Arthur knew, but he wasn't going to shy away from the effort. Eames was worth it. Having a future with Eames was worth any effort. Arthur was being given a second chance, Eames was willing to give him a second chance, and Arthur wasn't going to blow it.

It was regrettable that it had taken Eames nearly dying to make Arthur realize what was right in front of his eyes. And it wasn't going to be a simple thing, mending Eames' wrecked reputation. But they'd get this fixed. Both of them, working together.

Eames' mouth looked ripe and moist once Arthur was through kissing him, and Arthur felt a stab of heat, but the reality of Eames' brush with death was still looming too large in his mind for him to get aroused. Well, maybe a little, because Eames was just too delicious.... But, honestly, Arthur was more concerned with mending the damage that had been done between the two of them, and with getting Eames healthy enough to return to working in the dream-share.

It occurred to Arthur that he was extremely lucky. Lucky that Eames had been patient, and that he was now forgiving. Lucky that Eames was willing to give Arthur another chance, and even more lucky that Eames had gotten his own personal second chance.

Completely aside from the fact that Eames had nearly died twice, Arthur might still have lost him if he'd told Arthur to just fuck the hell off. He'd have been well within his rights to do so. And yet he hadn't. Thank God.

Arthur wanted to thank Eames for this. He wanted to apologize again. But they had both agreed on a fresh start. Neither of them was going to be able to forget what had come before, but they could move on from there, make things right. At least this was Arthur's deep hope, and he thought it was Eames' as well.

Arthur had more to make up than Eames did, though Eames had not been perfect and without fault in their near-tragic misreading and misunderstandings of one another's motivations. Hell, of their _own_ motivations. Eames could have said something sooner, and more decisively.... But, as he had said, he couldn't be sure of not facing rejection, and Arthur couldn't say that he wouldn't have rejected any such advance from Eames. Things had been a complete disaster for Eames recently, but maybe it was for the better that it had worked out as it had done.

Eames was watching him with heavy-lidded eyes. He looked more sleepy than aroused, but there was color in his cheeks and his lips were ruddy from their kisses. His hair was the wild mess that Arthur always loved, for reasons as much aesthetic and adoring as carnal. And, most importantly, he was warm and breathing, here against Arthur's chest. Not cold and dead before Arthur had even realized how much he had meant to him.

"You're beautiful," Arthur exhaled, focusing more on how Eames looked than the fact that he had nearly died. He was alive now, and he was all for Arthur. He ran his thumb over Eames' lower lip, tugging lightly at its generous swell, contemplating kissing him again, but enjoying just looking at him too much to lean back in.

Under his wandering thumb, Eames gave a crooked grin that was completely lacking in humor.

"Don't be ridiculous," he said in his raspy voice. "I'm well aware of how I look. I'm sure the word haggard doesn't begin to describe it."

Arthur scowled. He understood why Eames had said that. It was true that the shadows etched around Eames' eyes were deep and dark. His brow was still lined, though it was beginning to smooth out as his body healed. His face was drawn and he had more than a little weight to gain back. But his eyes were bright and clear, he was able to speak and function, he was alive and if he wasn't well, he was on his way to getting there.

Besides, though he wouldn't tell Eames so, and while he didn't like the reminder that Eames had nearly died, Arthur kind of _liked_ the fact that Eames was actually skinnier than he was, that he fit into Arthur's arms so neatly. He would continue to feed Eames, and he would support him when he was strong enough to begin working out again, but for now... for right now... well, it was kind of nice, to be able to hold Eames close and feel as though he was able to protect him, physically as well as mentally and emotionally. Not that he'd done so well on those latter two in times past, but he was planning on making up that lack from here on out.

Eames' cheekbones were now more sharply etched, his chin more pointed. His lips hadn't changed. His sharp grey eyes were the same as they had always been. So, yes, he did look haggard. That was true, and undeniable. But that wasn't all that he was. It was only a small portion.

"You look beautiful," Arthur reiterated. "And I won't accept any argument." He gave Eames a hard stare, and decided a little honesty wouldn't be out of place. "Eames, even if you didn't look beautiful to me right now, just the fact that you're _alive_ and on the mend makes looking at you a pleasure for me."

"Oh." Eames licked his lips, and Arthur let himself track the pink flicker of his tongue with a faint pulse of desire, even though he knew they weren't going to have sex until after Eames was more recovered. And that was okay. Regrettable, but okay.

"Well," Eames continued, looking unconvinced. "I guess if you put it like that," he grimaced faintly. "I have to admit that I'm quite happy to be alive as well."

Arthur couldn't help letting out a sound of amusement, even though it was all too obvious that Eames didn't completely believe him. Then he bit his lower lip a little anxiously. He should indulge in a little more honesty, since they were both laying here, opening their hearts to one another. And aside from sex, the matter at the forefront of Arthur's mind was mortality. In particular, Eames' recent brush with it.

"It still frightens me that you came so close to death," he admitted, clinging to Eames with one hand, clasping the side of his face, feeling the bones of his cheek and jaw prominent under the tightly stretched skin. "Don't do that again," he ordered breathlessly.

Eames' smile was lacking in humor. "I'll do my best," he said, sounding a bit snarky even though he obviously meant the words. "It's not as though I'd planned what happened with Claus and his bum sedative. Especially after nearly dying on Sebastian's job. But I know I'll have a better time of it with you at my back, Arthur."

Eames didn't speak this as a question, but he didn't sound as certain as Arthur would have liked. As though he needed a little more convincing. Or maybe a _lot_ more convincing.

Well, after the chase Arthur had led Eames on, after the way he had left him every time, Arthur was perfectly willing to offer any reassurances the man needed. He owed it to Eames and Eames deserved it.

Before he could say anything, though, Eames spoke up, somewhat hesitantly. "I've.... You know I've got your back too, right?"

Arthur met Eames' eyes. He didn't doubt this, didn't doubt Eames' sincerity. But he had to wonder a little how much it had cost Eames to speak the words aloud. Maybe not much. Or maybe a lot. Either way he had said it, and he had meant more than he had said, they both well knew.

He smoothly moved his hand to wrap around the back of Eames' neck, giving in to temptation and claiming Eames' mouth in a short, sweet kiss.

"I know that," he murmured against Eames' full lips, thumb now tracing against one sharp cheekbone. "But its good to hear you say it."

As Arthur pulled back, Eames looked as though he had something to say. But even more, he looked as though he was on the verge of falling asleep. Arthur smiled to himself, stroking that mess of soft hair away from Eames' face with gentle fingers. There was trust here, and a vulnerability that he had never stuck around to see in all the time they'd been having sex together. Eames looked both younger and older as he fell asleep, worn out by his recent ordeal and the intensity of their confrontation and subsequent conversation.

"Go ahead and sleep," Arthur said quietly. "I'll be here when you wake. I promise."

Eames rumbled out something that might have been "I know" or maybe something less certain. Either way, he was clearly losing his battle with sleep, and he burrowed into Arthur's chest, arms slung around his waist, his face pressed against Arthur's collarbones. Arthur held him close, not so tightly as to rouse him, but wanting to keep him near, keep him safe. He would have Eames' back, his front, and his sides. His up and his down, his inside and out, his dreams and his waking. Arthur wanted all of Eames, and in return he was perfectly willing to give Eames all of himself.

And maybe if he tried hard enough, someday he would convince Eames of this.

Arthur knew that he had a lot of ground to cover. He'd won Eames over, but he didn't make the mistake of thinking that this made everything all right. He would need to prove his loyalty to Eames. To make Eames believe in his regard and affection. He would have to _work_ to convince Eames that he was right where he wanted to be, and that he wasn't going to leave.

"Darling," Eames murmured into his chest, the word blowing warm and sweet through the material of his shirt. And there was a wealth of meaning in that one word, giving Arthur hope. Hope that he wasn't going to have to work as hard as he had feared. Hope that things were actually all right between them _now_.

"Go to sleep, Mr. Eames," he whispered, as he had done in the second level of dreaming during the Fischer job, allowing even more of his deep-seated fondness to creep into his voice. And then, because he wanted to make sure that Eames knew, that Eames _trusted_ , he added, "I'll stay. I'll always stay. And when you wake, I'll be here, holding you."

He wasn't sure Eames heard that last, as the man relaxed against him and his breathing evened out into the steady inhalation and exhalation of sleep. But Arthur felt better for having said it, for having made the promise again.

He would continue to say it as many times as Eames needed to hear it, but someday he hoped that it wouldn't need to be said. Until then, Arthur was going to do whatever it took to convince Eames of his loyalty and to earn back his trust. It was the least he could do. Eames was worth the effort, and Arthur wasn't afraid of a little hard work. Especially not when he knew now that Eames was willing to meet him halfway.

Things had almost ended in disaster, several times. There was still much for both of them to do in the future. But Arthur had confidence in his own abilities.

And even more than that, he had Eames. That was something he wasn't going to take for granted and it was something that he would do anything not to lose.

Pulling Eames close, Arthur settled in to keep his promise. It was going to be easy, because there was nothing more he wanted in the world.

Right here, in his arms, he had everything he would ever need. He had Eames, and he would hold onto him. Forever.

+end+

**Author's Note:**

> Companion fic to [Bring Back the Moon](http://archiveofourown.org/works/306482).


End file.
